


Kleptomania

by TheSleeplessWriter



Series: An Agreement of Sorts [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Hairbrush, Implied Molly Hooper/Greg Lestrade - Freeform, Kleptomania, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Spanking, Stealing, Stern John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-16 07:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11824407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleeplessWriter/pseuds/TheSleeplessWriter
Summary: Sherlock's hands itched as he spied the object. He tried to flex and clench them in distraction. It didn't work. As soon as no one was looking, he took it.





	1. Warning

Sherlock stole Lestrade's badge often, mostly just for fun. Only thing is, now it's gotten boring. He wanted to try something a bit more difficult. 

He and John were at a pawn shop, looking around for a missing scimitar that was involved in their most recent case. Quickly it was revealed that the unique sword wasn't there, and they were preparing to head out. Sherlock spied a young, most likely new employee struggling with a large box of collectibles to be put on display. 

He smirked. This would be too easy. Sherlock slyly walked over, pretending to look at a collection of ornate statues. Right as the employee passed, Sherlock leaned back, causing the teenager to trip and drop the box. 

"I'm so sorry!" The employee flushed a bright red, almost as red as his curly hair. 

"No no, it's okay." Sherlock used his faux kind voice and knelt to help him pick up the different objects. 

An old, Victorian pocket watch caught his eye. Quick as lightning, his pale hand darted in amongst the pile and shoved it back into his pocket. 

When rest of the mess was picked up, Sherlock left, the young man awkwardly thanking him. 

"Ready?" John asked, waiting at the doorway. 

"Mmhm." Sherlock replied, slipping his hand back into his pocket. His fingers traced the delicate design and cold metal. His heart was drumming in his chest from the excitement.   
\---------

It kept happening. Little things that Sherlock thought he could get away with, he took. Random, unnecessary things. Once he had the objects, he didn't know what to do with them. He simply stuffed them in a box and placed it underneath his bed. It was only the thrill of the hunt that excited him. Only a few times did John almost catch him. 

On a late Saturday night, Sherlock, John, and Lestrade gathered at Molly's flat. She had just received a promotion, becoming head pathologist at Bart's. She was also going to be giving demonstrations for medical students. 

Sherlock stood awkwardly, holding a glass of water in his hand. His eyes scanned the premises while pretending to listen to the full conversation. Her small flat was perfectly tidy, nothing out of place. It was a stark contrast to the disaster of a household that was 221B. 

His eyes landed on a small, marble carved statuette of an owl that stood on a shelf. It was painstakingly detailed and rather old by the looks of it. 

"Have an affinity for owls, Molly?" Sherlock asked, his eyes trained on the bird. 

"On, no. It was my dad's. He loved owls, collected all sorts of things with them on it. Paintings, books, and carvings like that. He left it to me when he passed." Molly smiled in quiet remembrance, sipping her cup of tea. Owls used to litter their house. 

"That's interesting. My mum had an obsession with Westies. We had six at different times. Even my baby blanket had those little white dogs printed on." Lestrade mentioned, grimacing for a second. He never could escape the little talking dogs. 

The two continued to converse about their animal-loving parents while John politely listened. While no one was looking, Sherlock reached up and grabbed it, pocketing it rapidly. Only thing is, he didn't account for John to turn his head directly at that moment. 

He didn't catch much, but he did see Sherlock digging his hands into his pocket. As well as an empty spot on the shelf. He walked over and quietly whispered in his ear. 

"Why'd you take that? You don't need it." 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood at the breathy accusation. Sherlock cursed under his breath at the prospect of being caught. 

"I just wanted it." Sherlock muttered, looking out of the corner of his eye to see if Molly or Lestrade saw what was going on. They were too enraptured in remembering old childhood memories to pay attention. 

"Put it back." John ordered, making sure to keep his voice low. 

"Oh, come on." Sherlock still had his fingers wrapped tightly around the owl. 

"It's an heirloom. Now." John's voice was getting more stern, which was a flashing red light to stop. 

"Fine." Sherlock mumbled, placing the statuette back where it belonged on the shelf. 

"Molly, where's the loo?" John asked, turning to face the center of the room. 

"But I put it back!" Sherlock said as quietly as he could while still retaining his indignation. 

"Just down that hallway." Molly pointed, momentarily interrupted from her conversation. 

Molly and Lestrade watched as Sherlock kicked his feet at the carpet and followed John with his head held low. Then they locked eyes for a moment, both wondering exactly what was going on. Still, they didn't ask questions, they didn't pry. 

The bathroom was disgustingly neat, if a bit cramped. John would need to be a bit creative. 

"Over the sink." John finally decided. It was the least cumbersome position for the moment. 

Sherlock looked up at him with gloomy dark eyes. "I put it back." He repeated, crossing his arms. 

"You attempted to steal from a friend with no apparent reason. You just wanted to see if you could get away with it." John said with realization, pointing his finger accusingly. He wanted to nip this in the bud, to make a point and make it quick before it escalated.Too bad he didn't realize just how long this had been going. 

"They'll hear." Sherlock said stubbornly. 

John nodded and flipped the switch on the wall. The loud noise of the vents roared to life. 

"Let's just get it over with." John said, knowing the faster they started, the faster they could be out before Molly and Lestrade got too worried. 

Sherlock groaned in annoyance and leaned his body against the sink. He knew full well that he was getting what he deserved. 

John placed one hand in between Sherlock's shoulder blades and raised the other high. He landed 10 sharp smacks to Sherlock's arse, aiming for nothing more than a reminding sting. A few gasps and a yelp were all that left his lips. 

"Alright, we're done." John announced, patting Sherlock's back kindly. 

He stood quickly, confused as to why the spanking was so short. 

"That was a warning. Don't be stealing things unless you've got a very, very good reason." John advised, flipping off the vents and opening the door. Sherlock took a few breaths to steady himself and then followed him. 

Molly and Lestrade smiled awkwardly when the two returned. They pretended nothing had happened and continued with the conversation 

Sherlock spent the rest of the afternoon devising ways to be more stealthy and not get caught again.


	2. Exact Opposite of Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was crossing the line, and then there was dancing carelessly across the line. But then there was laughing, giving the finger, and summersaulting across the line.

Sherlock learned well from the incident at Molly's flat. He learned to be completely sure John was either not there or not looking when he stole something. He adapted. It added more difficulty, which in turn made it more fun. 

It was more interesting when there were security cameras. Sherlock learned to use the camera angles and blind spots to his advantage, and was able to get away with many small trinkets. The box underneath his bed was nearly full from useless stolen goods. Boxes of spearmint gum, fancy pens, ornate spoons. Still, the venture was becoming the detective's most hated word, boring. He needed to up the stakes. 

\-------

A serial killer had been roaming the streets this past month, five victims already murdered. He was known for his simplified manner of killing, a single gunshot to the back of the neck. So when Sherlock finally helped track down the man, the armed forces had to be called in. They surrounded the single family home, guns drawn. 

"Donnie Walker, come out with your hands up!" Lestrade shouted from a megaphone, standing behind a police car. 

The front door creaked open, and every armed police tightened their grip on the trigger. The man staggered out, his face gaunt and pale. His fingers trembled as he raised his bony hands high in the air. His pupils were so small they hardly existed. Sherlock stood next to John, watching with calculating glances. 

"He's overdosed on pain meds." Sherlock said after watching carefully. The man's body wavered like a flickering candle. John peered through the open door, and sure enough, a large empty bottle stood on the counter. He really had to squint to see it, but it was there. 

"Three, two, one." Sherlock counted off with his fingers. Right on cue, Walker collapsed on his doorstep, weak and nearly lifeless. He was mere minutes from death. The police cautiously rushed in and an ambulance was called for. 

\-------

Sherlock strode around the street, his hands in his pockets. Walker had already been whisked away to the hospital, where he would be treated by rather indifferent doctors and nurses. He had killed five people. 

"So, you're the Sherlock Holmes Lestrade's been talking about. What'd you think of tonight?" 

Sherlock turned to see a petite blonde lady standing behind him. She was an armed police, dressed in a bullet proof vest and a Glock pistol at her side. She was young, in her her early twenties. She offered a small smile. 

"It was boring and predictable." Sherlock replied, sighing as he looked around at the leaving police officers. 

She scoffed. "Would ya preferred Walker came out screaming, machine guns ablaze?" 

Sherlock smiled at her quick retort. "It would have been interesting." His eye suddenly landed on the pistol neatly encased in a holster at her hip. It would be hard, like the boss battle in a video game. He scanned the surrounding area once more. John was busy talking to Lestrade about the ongoing and stale case that involved the scimitar. 

"Well, Donovan was right. You are quite the arsehole." She leaned against the back of the police car, eyeing him curiously. 

"How long have you been working here?" Sherlock asked suddenly, although he had already made his guess. 

"Two weeks, but I bet you already knew that. Did your deduction thing. Eh, I bet I reek of rookie. My name's Laurie, by the way." She said. 

"No, Laurie. You did just fine." Sherlock then orchestrated a fall, making sure to trip over his ankle as he took the next step. He fell directly atop the young policewoman. 

"Sorry, I'm a clumsy bugger." Sherlock chuckled and apologized with fake charm, picking himself up carefully. 

"Anyway, I've got to go. See you around, Laurie." Sherlock said smoothly, walking towards John while fingering a certain pistol inside his coat. 

"See you around, Holmes." Laurie said, watching him. 

"I've already called a cab." John said when Sherlock reached him. "It's a bit late, but we can still figure something out for dinner. I think we've got some bread and some ham, but I don't remember how long ago we bought that ham." 

Sherlock nodded, not really paying attention. He stood next to a bush and dropped the gun in there. It's not like he was actually planning on keeping it, no, he had limits. 

"Bloody hell, ma Glock's missing!" Laurie shouted from across the street, finally noticing the missing weight on the right side of her hip. 

Sherlock's eyes widened. He had expected her to notice after they had left. "Hey John, the cab is here." He sad, pointing at the small car as it pulled up to the corner. 

John lifted his hand in the "wait" gesture, heading to the frantic young policewoman. 

"Imma get sacked for this." She said, panic rising in her voice. She had mucked it up after only two weeks!

"It's okay. I bet someone just tried to play a dirty prank on the rookie. Everyone did that in the army. Let's look for it." John said kindly, using his phone as a flashlight. 

Pretty soon he found the glint of metal hidden underneath the bushes. The bushes which were right next to Sherlock. 

"Here you go." John's voice seemed more grim as he handed Laurie the gun and returned to the cab. Sherlock could see the wheels turning in his head, and he didn't like where this was going. 

After a moment of silence in the cab, John turned to Sherlock seriously. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I'll only ask you once. Did you take her gun?"

"John." Sherlock was about to embark on a long defense, but John cut him off. 

"Did you take her loaded gun, that she needs for her dangerous job?" He asked again, his eyes a cold steel blue. 

Sherlock looked down, avoiding his penetrating gaze. His grasped his hands tightly. Damnit, the look alone was worse than being interrogated by the government. 

"Look at me, Sherlock. Look at me." John said firmly, tilting Sherlock's chin up with his hand. "Answer my question." 

"To be honest, any copper who doesn't notice when someone takes their gun shouldn't have one in the first place." He finally said, that familiar tone of confidence back. 

John sighed. "Okay, stop talking. Right now." He muttered a few holy shits and glared at Sherlock. 

"What if you were caught? Hmm? That's illegal possession of a firearm as well as theft. That's years in gaol." 

"Mycroft would bail me out. He always bails me out." Sherlock was trying hard to keep up this facade of indifference, but his heart was really dropping to his toes. 

"What if he didn't? You're so used to it that you do whatever you feel like." John said abrasively, his voice cutting and sharp. 

Sherlock didn't say anything, and the rest of the drive home was spent in agonizing silence. As soon as they got home, John briskly made his way to the kitchen and pulled out the stale loaf of bread. His body was tense as he struggled to keep from slamming the plates down. 

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, worriedly watching John make the toast. John eventually firmly set down a plate of toast and jam in front of Sherlock. 

He looked down at the food, nearly saying that he wasn't hungry. That would only make John more pissed off than he already was. Sherlock ventured a bite of toast, and he struggled to swallow it. This felt like he was a prisoner on death row, eating his last meal. Hell, considering how upset John was, maybe it was his last meal. 

John ate his own food slowly, watching Sherlock with a clear gaze. 

"What else have you stolen?" John broke the terse silence, steepling his hands underneath his chin. 

"I have a box..." Sherlock admitted tiredly. He was so deep up shit creek that he didn't even bother to lie anymore. 

"Go get it." John ordered. 

Sherlock dropped his half eaten slice of toast and retrieved the box from underneath his bed. It was twice the size of a shoe box, and was near overflowing. He laid the box on the table, grimacing as John dug through the insides. 

"Why did you take all this? If you wanted it, you could have just bought it." John asked, surprised at all the cheap trinkets the filled the box. 

"I just wanted to see if I could." Sherlock responded with a shrug of his shoulders. 

"Okay. Wow. Go to your room and wait for me." John needed to take a deep breath, count to a hundred, and sort out a plan. 

Sherlock left, wondering just how bad of an idea it was to escape out the window and hide at Molly's flat. 

John paced the living room, scratching at his head and trying to figure out what to do. Sherlock had earned a spanking, that was for sure. But how was he to go about it? He soon figured it out, and walked down the stairs to Mrs Hudson's flat. 

John knocked on her door a few times, and heard her favorite soap opera pause. Mrs Hudson opened the door, dressed in a nightie and plush blue slippers. 

"Can I borrow your hairbrush?" John realized this didn't quite sound right. "Sherlock's got a massive knot in his hair, and the plastic comb won't do it." 

Mrs Hudson raised an eyebrow in disbelief and fetched the hairbrush from her bathroom. It was a heavy mahogany wooden hairbrush, and would certainly leave a sting. 

"I may be an old woman, but I'm not completely deaf." She said with a smirk as she handed it to him. John felt his cheeks warm and gave a brisk thank you before returning to Sherlock's bedroom. 

Sherlock was sitting on the edge of his bed, quite frankly looking like a sad little boy. John sat next to him, suddenly feeling a bit sorry for the man. 

"Y'know I can't just let you get away with everything. You nearly cost that poor girl her job, and you frightened her half to death. You preyed on her inexperience, which is beyond cruel." John rubbed at Sherlock's back, still maintaining his voice of authority. 

"Can't you use your hand?" Sherlock asked morosely, giving an evil glare to the hairbrush in John's hand. 

"I think you've earned the hairbrush." John nudged Sherlock. "Let's get this over with." 

Sherlock nodded and lowered himself atop John's knee, the upper half of his body resting on the bed. He always hated this part. He felt like a man willingly placing a noose on his neck. 

"Forgetting something?" John reminded. 

Sherlock groaned and shoved his trousers and pants down before returning to his position. John only wanted this bare so he could make sure he didn't go too far. 

" M'ready" Sherlock said before John could even ask him. He wanted this done as soon as possible. 

John lifted the hairbrush, testing its weight for a moment before letting it fall with a resounding snap. 

"Bloodybuggershit." Sherlock mumbled, his face buried in his arms. The pain never felt too bad until a few seconds later when it fully deepened in intensity. 

John continued after the shock of the first smack, alternating with a rapid pace. 

"It's not like I was planning to use the gun!" Sherlock defended. It was just the beginning and he could already feel himself starting to squirm. 

"I don't care. You stole her loaded, dangerous weapon just for shits and giggles. That. Is. Not. Okay." John punctuated each word of the last sentence with a stinging swat to the tops of his thighs. 

A rosy pink flush spread across the pale skin, darkening with every smack. Sherlock began to kick and stomp at the floor, trying hard to distract himself. A low grunt escaped his lips with every strike. 

"Next time you want to attempt to steal something, remember this." John landed more to the center of Sherlock's arse. "Remember how it feels to get your bottom smacked and use that clever brain to say no."

"Agh, John!" Sherlock whined, wriggling his body and punching at his bed. "I didn't even leave it that far away. I could have left it on the other side of town." 

"If you had done that, this would have felt like a couple love pats." John threatened, inwardly shuddering to imagine how much worse it would have been if Sherlock had tried that instead. He landed a particularly sharp swat to his sitspot. 

"Ah!" Sherlock yelped, hating how it sounded. He would have much preferred if he could somehow stay quiet. His breathing was becoming ragged and— damnit, tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

His skin was now turning a more vibrant red, thanks to the unforgiving snap of the hairbrush. In the back of his mind, Sherlock considered advising Mrs Hudson on the wonders of the simple comb. 

"Do you know why it was wrong? Why taking so many useless things was wrong?" John paused, seeing that the spanking had gone on long enough. 

Sherlock sniffled and took a shaky breath. "Because I stole things that did not belong to me and did not need. Officer Laurie could have needed her gun at any moment, but I took her self protection and defense away from her." 

"Is it ever right to steal because you are bored?" John pressed, already having tossed the hairbrush to the other side of the bed. 

"No." Sherlock responded quietly. "I'm sorry, John."

"Then we're done here." John moved to allow Sherlock to very stiffly stand up and readjust his clothing. He sucked in a breath at the fabric touching sore skin. 

Sherlock's grayish eyes were watery and his cheeks were tear tracked.

"Hey, it's okay." John wiped at Sherlock's cheeks with his thumb and crushed him in a warm hug. "We're done, you're forgiven."

"We can watch a film before bed. I'll let you pick." John said softly, walking to the living room. He always acted more cautious with a freshly spanked Sherlock, as he was more quiet, docile, and in need of a great many hugs. 

Sherlock picked some obscure old mystery movie, even though he had correctly guessed the murderer less than twenty minutes in. The two embraced on the couch, a few blankets strewn in between them. John struggled to keep up with the convoluting plot while Sherlock rested his head against John's neck and tried to deduce each character. 

He proudly boasted every time he was right, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that concludes the 3rd installment of this new series. Let me know what you think, and feel free to leave kudos, comments, and constructive criticism :)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've made a new series. I felt I still had more to explore with this idea of a disciplinarian John. Let me know what you think down in the comments! Feel free to leave kudos and constructive criticism, I'm always trying to improve :)


End file.
